Constants
by Avelona-and-Sally
Summary: Jack Frost falls out of his world, where he can count the Boogeyman as one of his nearest and dearest, and into another one, where Pitch hasn't yet attempted to rid the world of believers and is starved for friendship. What's a Guardian to do? Fluff. Black/Frost. Some coarse language.


It is dark, and he is dark, and it is lonely, and he is lonely. These are the four truths of his existence that never shift. He never ventures into light. He is black as pitch and never differs. He is never a part of anything more than his one self, and he is never approached.

Pitch skulks in alleys, between sinister trees in parks, around corners in empty streets, and waits. For a rebellious teen to wander into his shadows. For a young girl to stumble his way. He admits to enjoying the wait, the sneaking around and the rush of knowing someone is _just about to reach the trap - _

Until a snowball hits him in the back of the head.

He turns, alarmed, angry, more than a little bit shocked at not having noticed the presence of a potential victim in the street, and bristles at the sight of a white-haired, floating teen a fair distance away.

"Nyah," the boy says, sticking his tongue out, and readies another one.

Pitch is swallowed up by the black shapes cast onto the wall of the building beside him, and appears two feet away from the youth, leaning out of a mass of blackness gathered at his height.

"Jack Frost," The name is not uttered with anything other than curiosity, and the derision gathered from having been attacked just now. "What is it you want?"

"Figured you might have an idea of a way to have a good time on this cold, lonely night of nights." The youth grins, and Pitch nearly recoils because that is a look that he is never sure what to do with. He just looks so damn _happy._

"Unfortunately, I do not exist to be your entertainment this night."

"What night are you free, then?"

"_None._ Leave me." He zipped down the shadows until he was once again on the street, and fixed his eye on a woman turning the corner. She was already on guard, paranoid for the exact reason a woman walking at night should be, but Pitch wasn't here to play on that. He could create his own fear.

"Aw, that's no fun," Frost said, riding a breeze up to the swaying, old streetlamp, and putting a hand on the power line. The sudden cold from his touch glitched the cord and made the line flicker. A hitch could be heard in the woman's breathing.

Pitch paid the silver-haired boy's actions no mind for the moment, and took the opportunity of her passing by him to step into her shadow, his own footsteps echoing hers. The old lamp swung violently, courtesy of the other myth. Pitch kept his focus on the woman's fear, radiating off her like the scent of a feast. She'd caught sight of the lamp, gaping at the icicles hanging eerily off its shade, and with good reason. They were in California. Pitch chuckled, and the sound set her off. She spun around, moving backwards and tripping over her own feet.

Jack laughed too, but his adolescent snickers couldn't be heard by the nonbeliever - it was a bit of a privilege of the Pitch's, to be seen when a victim was toeing the line of believing. Not that this seemed to bother Frost; on the contrary, he let loose a hair-raising chill from where he was, that crept over the street little by little, and, for good measure, tapped the spot right underneath the lamplight, the most well-lit spot in the alley, with his staff, unleashing a web of frost that inched towards Pitch's victim quickly.

The Nighmare King could feel it - in the fast heartbeat, in the shaking, in the energy that built up - and here it came, right from the diaphragm -

- A bloodcurling _shriek_ came out of the woman, and she _ran,_ losing a shoe and not stopping until she'd rejoined the rest of what small portion of the city was awake in a busier street, looking like she'd escaped from a murderer. Or an asylum.

Pitch Black let loose a laugh that was lighter than any he'd released in over a decade. He looked over at Frost, who was leaning on his staff and raised an eyebrow, "I'm impressed."

The teenager shrugged, shaking a dusting of snow that had gathered in his hair from the excitement onto the ground, "Meh."

"No, really, I didn't know you had it in you, Frost."

A curse is heard from behind them and a bottle is smashed against the wall; they turn to see a man spit, leaving a dark stain on the ground, "'The fuck was the bitch runnin' from…?" and turned around. Pitch could guess he'd been the reason for the woman's already-fair panic.

"Ah. How noble of you." That was closer to his first estimate of the child.

Jack's eyes were cold, holding none of their usual mischief as he observed the man departing. "You do the same thing just about every other night," he turned to Pitch with a smile.

The Boogeyman sneered, "Don't make me laugh." He turned; if that was what the Spirit of Winter was here for, then he was wasting his time. He wasn't about to go and scare all the souls wandering the streets at night into their homes to save them from assault.

"No, y'know, I've been thinking," the youth jumped into a breeze and rode along behind him, "Fear's a pretty neat thing."

"Oh, really?"

"I mean, everyone's born with it, and you kinda need it. Survival instincts and all that - 'thin ice is scary.'"

"At any point, are you going to tell me anything I don't already know?"

"And, of course, there's those guys who like to have a good scare - the horror movie fans and schiz," Jack said, swinging around to block Pitch's path, _"So, _I've been thinking…"

"You said that already. I have yet to see evidence of it."

"Why don't you and I team up, and see if we can't scrounge up a few more believers?" he smirked, scratching his cheek. "You can keep people away from thin ice, and I can help you out on your scares. What goes together better than cold and dark?"

A hand reached out to him, white with swirls of frost.

Biting back a grumble, Pitch took it.

[-M-]

As they grew to rely on each other more, Pitch began to notice a pattern - mainly, getting people to believe in something that hadn't even a decent myth was not working. That didn't stop Jack from being incessantly cheery, though, and greeting Pitch like they'd been friends for years every time they came across each other. Though he never stopped insisting Frost was an absolute moron and extremely annoying, it was a deep-down secret of the Boogeyman's that he _liked _these meetings, and didn't really object to them.

So when he ran into Jack and the spirit had absolutely no recollection of him, he was stung.

Why act like they didn't know each other? Why pretend like they hadn't been working together for the last two _months?_ Why seem shocked when he'd used his abilities to steer a group of children away from his too-thawed pond?

And again there was the pain. Only this was more bitter - not just being ignored, but, even better, _rejected._ So he did like he always did and holed up in his series of caves, retreating to the embrace of his shadows to harden himself a little before going out to spread fear among the citizens of this ungrateful town.

"Pitch?" _Frost?_ "Hey, uh, don't mean to interrupt your 'alone time', but, uh, there's a town up north - Burgess - that's not really ready for a full-out winter, ya know? And their ice is gonna be weak, and there are kids there who play outside a lot, and - why are you staring at me like that?"

"Who _are_ you?" He crept forward, shadows letting him warp his height so he towered over the boy (not that that was hard to do, what with his fairly short stature).

"Uh..._Jack?"_

Pitch considered copying the youth's actions toward himself, considered pretending not to have a clue who he was - but he reasoned that wouldn't stop the irksome teen from making another attempt at befriending him, regardless, _and_ he wanted answers for what had just occured.

"Not three hours ago I approached you near the pond in this wood and you appeared to have no recollection of me whatsoever."

Surprise bloomed on the white-haired boy's face, "There's another me?" Then his brows furrowed in thought, "But then it's definitely… No, it could still be time travel." Uncertain, blue eyes met Pitch's own. "We need to go talk to the Guardians."

[-M-]

Pitch _hated_ the Guardians. The Guardians hated Pitch. It was a miracle Jack could handle being in the same room as all of them - _with _his double. Even more amazing, they managed to piece what happened together.

"So…you're me?"

"Uh-huh."

"From a parallel dimension."

"Yeah."

"Where I have _believers?"_

"Yup," the dimension-hopper smacked his lips on the 'p'. "And when I first got here, I thought it was time travel - the calendar said this was a few years before it is now, back where I'm from. But then Pitch said he ran into me - or, y'know, _you_ - so I thought it might be something else. _Anyway," _Jack turned to the dumbfounded Guardians, "Ya gotta help me get home."

"Well, uh…" Toothiana blinked, "Um, this sounds, ah, out of my jurisdiction."

North stroked his beard, "With effort, I could try and make snowglobe that opens into other world. Would take time."

The Other Jack - because he wasn't _this_ world's Jack, no matter how much Pitch wished he was - grinned, "Hey, I've got time. But you gotta try."

Bunnymund scowled, "So I got a question, then."

The Other Jack smiled, "Shoot."

"Why is it, then, that when you find yourself several months back in time, the first thing you do is go find _him?"_ All eyes went to Pitch. This world's Jack seemed to agree.

"'Cause he's my best friend? I dunno, what else do you do in that situation? I figured if I was only a few months back in time, I didn't need to tell you guys, 'cause it wasn't _that _big a deal."

The Guardians seemed to buy that, which made the Nightmare King wonder how safe the children really were in their hands.

[-M-]

"You find yourself several months back in time, and the first thing you do is pop by your best friend before you even would've met and see what he's doing?" Pitch asked the Other Jack when they were alone.

The youth blew his stark white bangs out of his face, "Okay, ya caught me. That wasn't the only reason I went to see you."

Pitch waited.

"I figured, you don't just get sent back in time for no reason. And the only reason I could think of, was to stop you from...this plan that you had. Back in my world. To get rid of all believers."

In the depths of his solitude, Pitch had considered such a thing. It hadn't yet been attempted, but it wasn't definitely in the 'trash'.

"And, uh, well, me and the Guardians, we stopped you. But then you and I started hanging out and...we made a good team. So when I got here, I thought it was to stop you before anything started. But you hadn't gone forward with your plan at all yet, so when we just...picked up from where you and I left off over there, I guess."

Pitch wasn't sure whether he was upset at the youth's easy trust of him, or thankful for it, or both. The only constant here, it seemed, was that Jack Frost was a very confusing being.

The door to the room they'd been left in opened, and this world's Jack Frost peered at them with caution, pale fingers wrapping around the wood. That was an expression Pitch recognized. He was sure he'd worn it more than once since his meeting the Other Jack Frost.

Said Spirit grinned at his double and lifted his staff, making a miniature flurry with one motion and caught a snowball when it dropped obediently into his hand. "Wanna have some fun?"

Jack Frost smiled. The Other Jack smiled back. And in between these faint stirrings of friendship between two people who understood each other far better than most tried to, Pitch Black gained a sense of calm.

[-M-]

"So, I'm, ah, leaving soon. In a few minutes, actually. Or, at least, North's opening the portal and we'll see just where it goes." Frost awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.

Pitch _knew. _He'd known for a fair amount of time when the Other Jack would be heading home. That did not make this any less disappointing.

"You…you gonna see me off, or is this goodbye?"

"Idiot."

[-M-]

Almost everyone gathered to witness the departure. The Guardians, this dimension's Jack and, yes, even the Boogeyman himself.

They didn't exactly expect the other world's Boogeyman to waltz straight into their world and stare them all down like he owned the place the moment the portal was opened. After a second of gaping, however, the Other Jack launched himself at the Other Nightmare King with an excited "Pitch!" All bare feet and grasping hands and excited, whirling snowflakes.

This world's Pitch Black observed the evidence of their bond with a blank face, watching as his double's arm came around to cautiously return the hug. They hadn't gotten to the _touching_ stage yet, and he was a little relieved. He hadn't any clue what to do if the boy's skinny arms went around his middle.

This world's Jack watched, too, as his doppleganger was reprimanded for something that was out of his control, but didn't seem to care too much, anyway, and just remained near the dark myth, always in reach of his shadowy cloak.

"I am…" The Other Pitch's mouth twisted when he tried to say it, _"Thankful_ to you, for bringing him back.

"Yeah," The Other Jack grinned, "Thanks a bunch. Now that we've got this whole portal thing figured out, you guys can visit! It's really cool!"

Pitch didn't doubt it. He would miss having someone to argue with, who helped him gather believers.

But the Other Jack seemed much more focused on _his_ Pitch, so he did not reply.

[-M-]

Another snowball has hit him in the face, and he is again staring at the Spirit of Winter. But this one is awkward, shifting his feet and gazing at him, very much unsure.

"H-Hey."

"I am unsure whether to be angry or disappointed, that you think pelting someone with a snowball is an appropriate way to initiate conversation."

A smile plays at the boy's lips - he's watched this play out between his other self and this Pitch, he knows how to deal with it. It's fun, in fact, and fun is what he does best.

"It's much more _fun _this way."

"Ah, but you really ought to know, what _I_ consider fun…" Black tendrils reached out to the teenager, who leapt to catch a gust of wind and fly away, laughing, more snowballs forming in his hands.

And perhaps Pitch can add one more constant to his life. Not for certain yet, but it's a start. From what he can guess, Frost is just as lonely as he is, and neither of them would be willing to let go of something like friendship so easily.

It is dark, and he is dark, and he is cold, but he is not lonely.

…

…

A/N: This is raw, and is being posted without proper editing. Feel free to let me know if you spot evidence of it. I can't promise it'll be cleaned up right away, but maybe one day.


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